name. Who is there very, very wise, besides Solomon?
Think, Sophy,--Profane History."

Sophy (after a musing pause).--"Puss in Boots."

"Well, he was wise; but then he was not human; he was a cat. Ha!
Socrates. Shall we call him Socrates, Socrates, Socrates?"

SOPHY.--"Socrates, Socrates!" Mop yawned.

WAIFE.--"He don't take to Socrates,--prosy!"

SOPHY.--"Ah, Mr. Merle's book about the Brazen Head, Friar Bacon! He
must have been very wise."

WAIFE.--"Not bad; mysterious, but not recondite; historical, yet
familiar. What does Mop say to it? Friar, Friar, Friar Bacon,
sir,--Friar!"

SOPHY (coaxingly).--"Friar!"

Mop, evidently conceiving that appeal is made to some other personage,
canine or human, not present, rouses up, walks to the door, smells at
the chink, returns, shakes his head, and rests on his haunches, eying
his two friends superciliously.

SOPHY.--"He does not take to that name."

WAIFE.--"He has his reasons for it; and indeed there are many worthy
persons who disapprove of anything that savours of magical practices.
Mop intimates that on entering public life one should beware of
offending the respectable prejudices of a class."

Mr. Waife then, once more resorting to the recesses of scholastic
memory, plucked therefrom, somewhat by the head and shoulders, sundry
names reverenced in a by-gone age. He thought of the seven wise men
of Greece, but could only recall the nomenclature of two out of
the--even,--a sad proof of the distinction between collegiate fame and
popular renown. He called Thales; he called Bion. Mop made no response.
"Wonderful intelligence!" said Waife; "he knows that Thales and Bion
would not draw!--obsolete."

Mop was equally mute to Aristotle. He pricked up his cars at Plato,
perhaps because the sound was not wholly dissimilar from that of
Ponto,--a name of which he might have had vague reminiscences. The
Romans not having cultivated an original philosophy, though they
contrived to produce great men without it, Waife passed by that perished
people. He crossed to China, and tried Confucius. Mop had evidently
never heard of him.

"I am at the end of my list, so far as the wise men are concerned,"
said Waife, wiping his forehead. "If Mop were to distinguish himself by
valour, one would find heroes by the dozen,--Achilles, and Hector, and
Julius Caesar, and Pompey, and Bonaparte, and Alexander the Great, and
the Duke of Marlborough. Or, if he wrote poetry, we could fit him to